


Lazy Saturday

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [115]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Canadian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF, The Boys (TV 2019) RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: In Citadel, Antony Starr is an AU (alternate universe) character. He tells people he's an IT Risk Management and Computer Security Consultant (his official cover) but really he's a ex-military, sometimes mercenary, computer hacker and master thief hired by collectors and other ruthless people to steal for them: art, jewels, money, information... Citadel knows Antony's true occupation and he would never target the organization or any of its membership. Through Cit, he's met Stephen Amell (played RL) and fallen hard. This is their story.warnings for for verbal humiliation, extreme fisting and anal rose





	Lazy Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Antony Starr/Stephen Amell storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, the weather not the best outside, but they're cozy and warm in here, stretched out at opposite ends of the sofa reading. "Hey," Antony says with a small smile, having spent the last few minutes paying more attention to his gorgeous husband than the book on his lap, "You feel like playing?" He's been careful recently, concerned about Stephen's calf, but what he has in mind has nothing to do with that.

Antony might be indulging in a book, but Stephen is reading through his script, his brow furrowed as he makes notes with a pencil. "Hmm?" He glances up at Antony, takes a moment to register his husband's question. "Playing?" The script slips down his leg a little, and he blinks. "A scene?" Even as he's questioning his body is drawing its own conclusions.

Antony nods. "Nothing too elaborate," he says, slowly and deliberately closing his hand into a fist. "Just me, playing with your hole."

"Your hole," Stephen corrects softly. Without breaking eye contact Stephen sets his script and pencil aside, draws his legs up to hide just how quickly Antony's words have affected him. It's a while since they did anything more than sex, though their sex could rarely be described as 'vanilla'.

"My hole," Antony affirms with another nod, his cock reacting just as instinctively. Fuck. "Go and clean yourself out and I'll set things up on the bed."

"Yes Sir," Stephen's moving moments later, headed to the bathroom. He throws Antony a look over his shoulder as he steps into the hall. The bruises have started to fade, and Antony is moving easier, but Stephen's still aware that his husband still isn't 100%.

The thing about living this high up is there's no need to close the blinds or worry about nosy neighbours or even paps. Antony spreads a thick bath sheet over the bed, sets a tub of nice thick lube and a couple extra towels on the nightstand and strips down, his cock already jutting hard and proud from his body. There's nothing he doesn't love about sex with Stephen, but getting to tear up his boy's hole, Christ, that ranks right up there with his favourite things.

It takes Stephen a little while to get as clean as he likes, but he knows Antony won't be impatient with him - his Sir is nothing if not reasonable.

"Sorry." He appears in the doorway, naked, ready. He pauses to look his husband over. "Hmm, hot," he murmurs more to himself.

Antony grins, eyes crinkling. "We have all afternoon," he says, and he means it. "Come and give me a kiss first."

Stephen complies with a smile, he steps up, hand out to press it to Antony's chest as he leans in. "I love you," he whispers as he presses a kiss to Antony's smiling mouth.

"I love you too," Antony murmurs, pulling Stephen in close for a moment. "I want you to lie on your stomach and spread your legs. You can come anytime you want, as many times as you can manage, but I won't be stopping until I'm done."

"One question," Stephen looks up to meet Antony's gaze. "Are you Sir?" _Or Master..._

"Yeah." Like Stephen suspected, Antony's still not feeling 100% and the last thing he needs is for them to be fucking around with something Stephen still has issues with. "And you're my boy."

That wasn't the answer Stephen was expecting, he only gives himself away with a slight flicker of his eyelids, before he inclines his head. "Yes Sir."

"You wanted differently?" Antony asks, attuned enough to Stephen that he catches that slight flicker, that momentary pause.

Surprised that Antony doesn't let it go, Stephen offers a light shrug, reaching up once more, but this time it's to pet the dog tags around Antony's throat. "It isn't about what I want, is it? It was more I expected differently, that's all."

Antony can see that. This whole scene? It's about _his_ pleasure. His using his hole, his cunt, for his own satisfaction. "I want this to be easy," he confesses quietly. "My fists want to be buried inside you, wrecking your cunt, and I want you focused on giving me everything, on surrendering completely. I don't want anything distracting from that. Is it going to? If we're Master and slave?"

"No, I don't think it will. We're home, we're in our own space, no pressure," Stephen pauses, lifts his hand from the tags to Antony's jaw. "You need this darling man, you think I don't see it? You need to ground yourself in me, in using me. If being Master to this slave will give you what you crave, then it's what we do. You give this boy so much, let him be what you need now."

Antony nods, slowly. It sounds like Stephen's made a lot more progress than he thought he had and he _does_ need it. He presses a kiss to Stephen's palm and another to his mouth. "My slave."

Despite his misgivings with this whole concept - some he's yet to resolve and work through, Stephen gets a delicious little shiver at Antony's words. "My Master," he returns softly, it still feels odd in his mouth, like the it's an odd shape - but it's what Antony is, and what his man needs to hear. "Let your slave be your pleasure," he adds, stepping back, his chin dipped.

Antony's cock jerks at the words, already wet at the tip and he nods towards the bed. "Lie down."

Without another word, Stephen does just that, settles himself and takes a centring breath. It's easy to slip into the right head space; this is home.

Kneeling between Stephen's spread legs, Antony slicks his fingers with lube and rubs them around the tight pucker in front of him.

The tingling is instant, and if he were with anyone else Stephen might be embarrassed when he feels his hole flutter open, seeking that touch, his Sir's fingers, knowing exactly what pleasure lies ahead. Hips lift, presenting Antony with a perfectly pert and tanned ass with its splayed cleft and greedy hole.

"That's it," Antony murmurs, pushing two fingers deep, working them in and out. "Show me how much you want this."

"S'you Sir, I always want you," Stephen's words are muffled by the pillows he's got bunched up under his arms. He pushes back into Antony's hand, opening himself up, letting the muscles slacken under Antony's attention.

Three fingers and Antony's cock is jerking with every push inward, every gape and greedy flutter of Stephen's hole. "Look at that," he says softly. "Look at that cunt." Quickly adding a fourth finger, Stephen's body easily taking the stretch.

Sometimes Stephen's body opens up much more readily than others, it's often a subconscious issue that Stephen has no control over, just as sometimes he struggles to take as much pain as he has previously. Today his body is opening like a flower, easily, willingly, wanting more, wanting Antony's hand.

Thumb tucked into palm, Antony works his hand deeper and deeper with every movement, taking his time, watching the way Stephen's body opens up for him. Until they're almost there, the widest part of his hand stretching Stephen open, holding that gape. "Here we go..."

As easy as it's been, this is always the point at which there is a struggle between Stephen's body and Antony's will. Fingers wrapped around his pillow, Stephen tilts his ass up a little more, showing his eagerness, his submissive desire to be all that his Master wants him to be.

"That's good. Just like that," Antony says, working his hand still deeper, the muscle finally - suddenly - giving, sucking him into the wrist.

There's always a heartbeat, a moment when Antony's hand slides home that Stephen has to push down the urge to start struggling, the overwhelming physicality of having his Sir's hand inside him is a head fuck every damned time. He's learnt instead, to breathe his way through, to focus on his own breath until he can process the sensation.

"Can I... may boy... please, hands and knees?" he stutters out, his voice gone rough, gravelly with need.

Antony nods. "Go ahead." Moving back a little and kneeling up so he has a better angle.

It is with far less grace than Stephen might otherwise display that he pushes up onto all fours, he sways a little, shuffles his knees further apart, always mindful of the hand buried inside him, of Antony's presence.

Curling his fingers into a fist, Antony pushes in a little deeper before pulling back and letting his knuckles rub over that bundle of nerves inside his boy.

Stephen's body lights up, goosebumps blossom over his skin and he keens out a soft noise of pleasure. The ring of his asshole is tingling, his cock softening in response to the stimulus Antony is visiting on him.

Back and forth, Antony moves his fist. In and then out to the widest part, stretching the ring, the muscle, making room inside his boy for his fist. Forcing his body to open even more.

Rocking with the motion, Stephen's eyes are closed, his fingers press into the fabric beneath him and he grunts softly with each push of Antony's hand.

"Good boy," Antony praises and slowly pushes deeper, watching Stephen's body take more and more of his arm, his cock straining, dripping on the towel beneath them.

"Sir!" Antony hits a spot that makes Stephen flinch, something uncomfortable that's got nothing to do with the kink they're indulging in.

Antony stops instantly, drawing back a little before trying again from a different angle. Stephen's got a good part of his forearm but he'd like to see him take more. "Let me know if it's too much."

Stephen makes some noise of understanding, tilts his hips a fraction as Antony starts in again. His own dick is completely flaccid, however long strings of clear precum bead from the tip to the towel, and his cock will keep weeping like that for the entirety of their scene.

Pushing deeper even more slowly, Antony's gaze flickers between Stephen's hole and his boy's back, Stephen's head and face tucked down where he can't get a clear view but he can watch for that flinch again, for any tensing, any discomfort beyond the norm.

With each inch Antony gains inside his body, Stephen slips further into his headspace, he becomes less aware of his surrounding, less aware of his own thought processes, attuned only to his Master, and where his body is being used.

When Stephen's body takes him to his elbow, the girth of his forearm stretching his boy wide, Antony stills, his cock throbbing, dangerously close for a moment. "I am so proud of you," he murmurs, running his other hand over Stephen's hip.

The words, the praise, do not really register with Stephen, he's far too gone to process. His body trembles, a wash of endorphins flood Stephen's system, making him fly high in a beautiful floaty head space.

Antony draws back, back to the widest part of his hand again, before pushing forward, gaining the same space, on alert for anything that's serious pain or discomfort. Into his elbow and out to his hand, again and again, slowly, steadily.

Stephen's never taken Antony like this, not in all the ass play they've indulged, not fist fucking this deep, this consuming. It pushes Stephen deeper, nudging the edges of places he's only ever danced around before.

A few more deep pushes and Antony pulls back to his hand, and further this time, pulling free completely before shoving his fist back inside Stephen's gaping cunt.

There's a sudden loss of pressure, enough that a whine of displeasure spills from Stephen's mouth, but before he even gets to suck in a breath of air, Antony's hand punches back into his gaping, slicked up and ruined hole.

Again and again, Antony buries his fist in Stephen's body, his cock throbbing, dripping with every "punch". He loves doing this, loves Stephen, loves his hole, loves the way his body takes him, takes everything he gives him. Fisting has always been one of his biggest kinks but with Stephen, it's reached a whole new level.

Stephen's dropped down onto his forearms, he has his hands fisted in his pillow, his knuckles white from how hard he's holding on. Each punch from Antony has him rocking forward, his breath forced out of him. His skin is slick with sweat, flushed deep red in places, he's already spilled one load of semen on the bed beneath him, and he's close to another. Too far down to feel wrong he didn't ask permission, too far gone to even register he's orgasmed at all.

His shoulder starting to ache a little, Antony returns to the deeper movements, fucking his hand and the first part of his forearm into his boy. Captivated by the sounds Stephen makes, the way his cunt opens up, the way it grasps so greedily at his arm.

The shivering is setting in, a sure sign Stephen's body is coming to the end of what he can take, rather it signifies the end of the endorphin storm Antony's created in him. He shudders through another prostate orgasm, his flaccid dick drooling pathetically beneath him.

"Good boy," Antony says, pulling back, out completely. "Take a break," he says, urging Stephen to lie down, the towel folded so it covers the mess they've already made.

It's only the hand that presses him down to lie on his front that makes Stephen oblige, he doesn't process the words, he just knows Sir's hand is gone, and his body is left open and aching. He slumps down, his breathing is erratic, dampens the cotton beneath his mouth.

Hand cleaned off with another towel, Antony rubs soothing circles over Stephen's back, kisses pressed to his shoulder, his own cock still hard, his balls full and heavy. He cracks open a bottle of water, making sure they both get a decent amount into them and then slides his hand lower again, fingers teasing over Stephen's ass and between his cheeks.

A soft noise of protest and Stephen shifts his hips a little, though from the movement it's hard to tell if it's toward or away from Antony's touch. His fingers open and then close again on the pillow and he lifts his head to try and peer at his Sir.

Antony strokes the still-stretched skin of Stephen's hole, giving his boy a grin, his eyes crinkling. "You are so fucking hot," he murmurs, spreading that pucker easily to see the wet pink flesh inside. "So beautiful."

Stephen doesn't feel beautiful, he feels like what he is right now; his Sir's boy, incoherent from subspace, sticky from his own secretions, sprawled inelegantly over their bed. As Antony's fingers open him up he lifts his ass up again and bears down, willing the flesh to unfurl and gift his owner a rose made of his own body.

Cursing softly under his breath, his tone one of pure awe, Antony teases his fingers around the slick red pushing out from his boy's body. Runs them all around it, tugging gently at the rose, pushing inside it. "Push it out, boy," he orders, leaning forward, his cock rubbed against the flesh.

Stephen is, he was, he pushes more until he's at the limit of what he can give. The flesh is hypersensitive to touch, so Antony's probing, teasing fingers feel like they're touching raw nerves, then he senses it, Sir's cock, and he keens out a sound of unashamed _want_. _Use your hole, your cunt... fuck it until it's dripping..._

Antony's fists still want more but when he hears that sound, the pure and unadulterated _need_ in it, he doesn't even hesitate, pushing the head of his cock into the slit in the still-blossoming rose. "Keep it out there, pig," he growls softly. "Keep it out as long as you can."

That growl, that voice, his Master, the man who can tear him apart into this; a mewling, gaping, filthy fuck hole. Stephen will do what he's told, because there is no other option, he is nothing more than an object for his owner's pleasure. He turns his face, stuffs his fist in his mouth and bites down, drool spilling over the knuckles as he bears down, holds himself open in that obscene way.

"Oh, fuck," Antony groans, feeding his cock into that perfect, beautiful red rose. Keeping his thrusts short, shallow, wanting to make it last as long as he can. "That's it, pig. You keep that cunt open, that rose out there. You give your sir, your Master, what he wants. His hole. His cunt. His dirty filthy fuck toy."

 _Fuck toy...cunt..._ In this headspace Master's words are as sweet as any endearment. Stephen is beyond conscious thought, beyond reasoning, beyond being able to think for himself in any capacity. He is drowning in a sea of Antony's making; endorphins, sex, humiliation, the perfect cocktail that sends Stephen down the rabbit hole of absolute submission.

Sinking himself deep, the rose disappearing back into Stephen's body, Antony braces his hands against the headboard and drives into Stephen with everything he's got, holding nothing back now. His boy nothing but a hole to be used, fucked, abused for his pleasure.

Stephen pushes back against the bed, back arched to give his Master the perfect angle with which to punch into him, over and over, brutally hard, each action punctuated by a growling exhale from Antony and a whimper of pleasure pain from Stephen.

When Antony finally comes, it's with a roar, the noise slamming off the walls, filling the room. His hips pump, cock jerking sharply as he empties his load, his seed, into his boy's cunt. Breeding him. _Mine_.

Gasping for air, his entire body shivering hard, Stephen holds his position, determined on some level to not move until directed. Sweat stings his eyes and he licks over dry lips as he waits for Antony to compose himself.

Antony eases out and back, running his hands over Stephen's ass and the back of his thighs as he catches his breath. "Good boy," he murmurs, bending to press a kiss to his lower back. "Relax." Urging him to lie down again, water offered once more.

Stephen sucks down greedily on the water, it spills down his chin and he wipes it away with the back of his hand, paying no heed to the bite marks on his knuckles.

Antony gives Stephen a few minutes to settle, relax, a few minutes break, but then he's scooping another glob of lube from the tub on the bedside table, his fist hungry to be back inside his boy. Fingers stroking around the still-stretched lips of his cunt.

Stephen feels the bed shift, takes in the noises of Antony moving around, waits for his next order. He assumes they're not done because Antony's made no move to bring him back.

Stephen's hole opens up so easily now, Antony's got four fingers inside him in an instant. Christ. His softening cock gives a rebellious jerk, making him think he could have used a ring for this. Fucked his boy again and again. But it's his hands, his fists, that are hungriest, wanting to be buried in his boy's body.

Back on his hands and knees Stephen offers his body up once more. His ass is intensely sensitive, and his hips ache, but he has no thought other than giving his Master whatever is demanded of him.

Antony takes his time, making room for his fist once more, his hand twisted, pulled back, right to the widest part and sometimes all the way out, before pushing back in. Shallow thrusts, deep ones, burying his arm to his elbow occasionally before drawing back again. Playing his boy like a puppet. He loves to do this, but never remembers exactly how much until he's buried inside Stephen, possessing him from the inside out.

Stephen is nothing more than a piece of flesh for Antony's amusement; when the physical sensations become too much for him to endure he's back to biting down on his fist, muffling the noises that spill from his throat.

Here and there, Antony gives Stephen a brief break, pulling back to simply rim his fingers around his boy's gaping hole. "Look at you," he murmurs. "Cunt wide open. Wrecked. I could so easily put both hands inside you..."

It's something his Master has only done to him once before, and Stephen has little recollection of it - he'd been beaten and humiliated for hours before it had occurred. He has nothing to say, couldn't if he wanted to. Instead all he can do is reach back with one trembling hand to try and touch his Sir.

Antony grasps Stephen's hand, dropping his head to press a kiss to the back, to his knuckles.

It's all Stephen needed, he brings his hand back to the bed and waits for more; more abuse, more use, more of his Sir taking from him.

Pushing in again, Antony scoops up more lube and starts to work two fingers in alongside his fist. He's determined to push, to see what Stephen can take, every nerve attuned to his boy's reactions, to telling, gauging, when it's truly too much.

He's already been pushed today, but it seems that's not enough for his Sir. So Stephen braces himself to take more, to allow his Master to use him in whatever way he needs to gain his pleasure.

Once again, Antony takes his time, slowly but surely introducing his other hand, soft words of praise and encouragement offered as he slips the second in beside the first, Stephen's body closing around both wrists.

Stephen can barely keep his balance, his knees are spread, his face pressed down into the bed, his hands bracing himself as his body takes it all, sweaty, flushed, with tears seeping from behind closed lids he surrenders to Antony's will. The pressure and pain are mind blowing, but he takes it, endure it, drowning in the endorphins and the haze of his head space. Somewhere, from some dark uninhibited place he manages to slur out. "Br...break boy...fuck bb...boy...d..destroy..."

Christ. Antony's hardened again and those words only serve to sharpen the ache. Back and forth he moves both hands, shallow thrusts, intensifying the stretch for seconds with each movement, his fists pressed hard against that bundle of nerves inside his boy, Stephen's cock constantly dripping, leaking on the towel beneath him, the stain a mixture of piss and come.

Stephen totally disassociates from himself, the physical sensations become too much for him to process so he steps outside of it, all tension bleeds from his body, his fingers loosen from the bedding, and he falls silent, the only noises now come from the shifting of the bed and his laboured breathing.

"Good boy," Antony murmurs, fisting Stephen until his arms and shoulders start to complain, his cock leaking, demanding its satisfaction once more. He slips one hand out, pushing his cock into the other, a rough groan spilling from his lips as he fucks his fist inside his boy.

Later Stephen will not recall this part, he'll have lost time, just like the first time that Antony managed to get both hands inside him. All he'll remember is the feeling of floating, of his body being not his own, even Antony's words will be lost to him.

"Oh, fuck," Antony groans, feeding his cock into his fist, into Stephen's body again and again, the pleasure building and building until it crashes over him, in wave after heady wave.

Oddly it's the scent of fresh semen that filters through Stephen's fog. Even through the stink of his own body, sweat, piss and ass. He moans softly at the smell, opens his mouth as if readying himself to clean up, like the filthy bitch he is for his Master.

Easing cock out of hand, Antony slowly draws his fist free as well. He wipes his hands, Stephen's cock and hole with the towel and tosses it onto the floor, collapsing beside his boy and pulling him down with him.

Stephen doesn't settle, or curl up against Antony so much as he simply collapses in an awkward sprawl. He mouths at his Sir's skin, in a mockery of kissing, tasting, cleaning. Moments later he simply goes limp as Antony's arm goes around him.

"Good boy," Antony praises, rubbing Stephen's back. "I'm so proud of you." He doesn't kid himself. He knows the words aren't getting through, that Stephen's too far under, but he likes to think the tone at least penetrates, the intention, the pride in his voice.

In all the time Stephen's been submitting, he's never felt so secure as he does in Antony's arms. No other man has ever offered him the security, the peace of mind, the absolute surety that he's safe - which is why Antony gets this from him, this utter surrender of all he is, the permission to take him apart until he is nothing.

With nowhere to be and nothing to do, Antony's not in any rush to bring Stephen back up. He gets some more water into both of them, rubs Stephen's back, presses kisses to wherever's in reach, murmuring words of love and affection in both French and English.

Slowly Stephen begins the journey back to himself, he becomes more aware of his own body, of the aching, the dull throb in his balls. The smell of Antony's skin, the words being whispered at him. He comes back to the present, but not back from his head space, the place where he is boy. He smothers a yawn and shifts with deliberate intent to press himself against Antony.

"Hey, beautiful." Antony smiles, eyes crinkling. Pulls Stephen in even closer.

Blinking slowly, Stephen watches Antony's mouth move, those creases appear at the edges of his beautiful blue eyes. He opens his mouth to speak. "Sir?"

"Yeah?" Antony's smile widens. "Can I get you anything? More water?"

Stephen shakes his head. He doesn't want to move, so consequently he doesn't want Antony to move either. Instead he tightens his hold on Antony, as if he's frightened his Sir will try and move away.

"I'm not going anywhere," Antony assures him, tightening back, a kiss pressed to Stephen's temple. "I promise."

As the chemical storm of the endorphin kick wears off the shaking starts up, and with it, tears. It's an unusually intense reaction post scene for Stephen, but then he can't recall being so far down before - even when they did the gym scene.

"Hey, it's okay, I've got you," Antony says, pulling the bedcovers up around them and wrapping himself around Stephen. "I'm right here and I've got you." He's not worried, not concerned, not yet. He knows he pushed his boy hard, pushed him down, under, so fucking far that the reaction doesn't really surprise him at all.

The words don't soothe like they should, in fact Stephen is experiencing a rising sense of panic. He feels like he's disconnected from himself, that he's stuck as 'boy' and that he can't come back, that Antony won't be able to bring him back either. He tries to talk, but the words make no sense and he finds himself in a spiral that he can't break.

"Hey. It's okay. I've got you. It's time to come back," Antony says firmly, Stephen's increasing distress becoming obvious. "Stephen. Come on. You've done so well, Stephen, and I'm so fucking proud of you but it's time to come back now."

Hearing his name gives something for Stephen to latch onto - historically it's been the key to bringing him back - before Antony it would bring him to the present almost instantly, but now, with Antony, with the way his Sir pushes him down so hard it's merely a tether - something to hang onto as he has to make conscious effort to pull himself back.

"I love you so much," Antony says, rubbing Stephen's back, "and you were so good for me, Stephen, but now I need you to come back to me. It's time."

It's enough to take the edge off, to calm him enough that Stephen can make a concerted effort, he turns his face and presses it to Antony's skin, uses his Sir's scent, the taste of him to ground himself. His fingers open and close against muscle, and Stephen works to bring his breathing back under control.

"That's it, Stephen," Antony says with a smile. "We're here, we're at home, you're safe..."

The tension eases, and with it Stephen's grip on Antony, he pulls back just a little, to give himself some space and opens his eyes fully to look around - as if just becoming aware that he's still in bed.

"You okay?" Antony asks softly, watching Stephen, concerned.

Stephen doesn't answer immediately, he blinks and only then turns his attention to Antony. "I don't know," he pushes up a little more. "I think I should use the bathroom."

"Do you need help?" Antony asks. He knows what a private person Stephen is that way, but he's worried about whether he'll be as steady on his feet as he needs to be.

"I... um... if... yeah if you can get me to the toilet, I'll be fine," Stephen's under no illusions that he's currently capable of looking after himself properly. "And I need to eat - I need something to eat..."

"Okay," Antony helps Stephen up from the bed and to the bathroom, getting him seated on the toilet. "I'll grab some finger foods and some Coke. Yell if you need anything and I'll help you back to bed when you're done." He drops a kiss on Stephen's head and pulls the door mostly closed behind him, leaving it open just a fraction in case.

Stephen watches Antony leave, he sways a little on the seat, the room tilting in an alarming fashion. Making a grab for the vanity he steadies himself and uses his breathing to centre himself again. He spends the next few minutes using the toilet and cleaning himself up again, wincing as he does so, his ass is incredibly tender. He has to keep pausing to let the room steady up, and he's hoping that all he needs to do is eat to make this vertigo go away.

Antony quickly scrubs up in the other bathroom. He grabs a tray and arranges an assortment of meat, cheese, crackers and fruit on a large plate along with a bottle of Coke and sets it on the nightstand. He quickly rights the bed, tossing the towels in the hamper and straightening out the sheets and covers. "You need anything?" he asks, knocking softly at the bathroom door.

"I'm done," Stephen calls back, he leaning heavily against the vanity not trusting himself to move unaided back to the bed.

Antony pushes open the door and slides a shoulder under his husband's arm. "I didn't bring anything sweet other than the Coke," he says, getting Stephen settled on the bed, the tray in the middle. "You want me to grab some cookies?"

"Yeah," Stephen nods, still more than a little dazed. "I want donuts," he blurts out. He looks up at Antony. "I feel really odd... really fucking odd."

"Yeah, I know," Antony nods. He can tell. "But it's like any other time. It'll pass. It just may take a little longer."

Frowning Stephen merely makes a noncommittal noise. He reaches for a cracker instead, determined that food will make him feel better.

"Have some protein too," Antony says, loading up another cracker with cheese and meat and offering it over.

Pushing down a flash of irritation, Stephen takes the second cracker and makes short work of it. "May I have a drink?"

Antony cracks open the bottle of Coke and passes it to Stephen. "We don't have any donuts, but I can get some in if you want?"

Stephen shrugs and takes the coke, he necks half the bottle in one go and then belches into his fist. This is the quickest way to get his blood sugar up, which will, he hopes, help even out the dizziness and his mood.

Antony opens a delivery app on his phone, locates a nearby donut shop that delivers and orders a dozen assorted, heavy on the caramel and chocolate. "Should be here in twenty minutes," he says, knowing full well Stephen might be over the need for them by then. Still.

"Thank you." It's those small things that Antony does that make all the difference, the irritation that had been building dissipates and he smiles at his husband. "Am I so demanding?"

"No, you're not," Antony says, smiling back. "You deserve a lot more than a box of donuts."

"I do?" Stephen shrugs, and picks up a piece of fruit. "Like what?" It's idle talk now, his mind not really able to settle on anything.

"Like a house on the beach," Antony says, eyes crinkling once more. "Or a massage or being king of the remote for the evening." He laughs. "Anything you'd like. Within reason."

"A weekend in New York?" Stephen's not sure where that came from, but he'll run with it, pretty sure Antony will agree.

Antony stares at Stephen for a second, the request taking him by surprise, then nods. "We could do that. Next weekend?"

"Thank you," Stephen finishes his coke and eats another cracker, saying no more on the subject.

"You want something more?" Antony asks, nodding at the empty bottle, already making plans in the back of his mind.

The sugar seems to be doing the job, and Stephen licks over his teeth - it's like he can _feel_ the sugar gunk there already. "I should drink some water," he nods, he tucks the covers around himself a little tighter. "Was it good for you?" The question has an edge of hesitation to it, and even though Antony has made it clear he's pleased Stephen still needs the reassurance.

Antony hands over a bottle of water. "It was amazing," he says with a smile. "I love fisting you." Which isn't exactly news. "I love the way you go under for me, the way you open up, trust me..."

"I can't help it, I'm not sure I could stop myself even if I wanted to," Stephen uncaps the bottle, but hesitates before he takes a drink. "I am slave, aren't I?"

Antony nods after a moment. "Does it still bother you?"

Stephen won't look at Antony, instead he fusses with the bottle lid, turning it over and over in his fingers. He nods and blows out a breath, he owes Antony honesty in all things.

"On an ongoing basis or just when we've done something like this?" Antony asks.

He glances up now, to find Antony's full attention on him, a small wrinkle between his brows. "I think it's like my submission isn't it? It's there, it's a part of me, something that is yours, something you have control over," he takes a long drink of the water and drops his gaze again.

Antony nods. "But if you're uncomfortable with it?" Fuck. He doesn't know what to say. How to solve it. If he _can_ solve it. "Is that going to cause problems for us?"

Panic sets up in Stephen's belly at Antony's question, his belly rolls unpleasantly and runs icy cold. He keeps his head down and swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. "No Sir," he replies, his voice thick.

"Hey, that's not what I meant," Antony says, reaching for Stephen, placing his hand on his husband's hip. "I am going to love you and want you no matter what. I meant from your end. Whether you think it might change the way you feel about me?"

Stephen's head comes up suddenly, he blinks, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. "No!" he shakes his head. "No, how can you think that? You're my everything, my husband, my Sir and yes, as much as I struggle with it, you are my Master. It is where we are, I just have to work at being okay with it, of making my peace with it."

"Okay," Antony nods. "That's what I'd hope, that it's just a matter of getting used to it, but I'd have to be an idiot to assume that. I don't ever want you scared of talking about this with me, or with someone else if you need to go that route. You're the centre of my whole world, you're more important to me than anything else and anything you need me to do, I'll do it."

Tears spill down Stephen's face and he nods, too choked up to reply, he drops his chin and curses himself for being such a mess again. This is becoming a theme, they do a heavy scene and he falls apart emotionally after the fact. Something he's sure Antony won't want to deal with for much longer. His Sir, his _Master_ deserves better than this, and Stephen promises himself he'll work on it before Antony has to tell him to.

"Hey," Antony says again, moving the tray to the bedside table and taking Stephen into his arms. "It's okay. I know I pushed you really hard and I am so proud of you for taking it."

 _I'm not good enough._ It's there right at the forefront of his thoughts, and as much as part of Stephen's brain, the rational part, says this is nonsense, he can't not feel the sting of an old wound. He presses himself tight against Antony's body, and tries to let his Sir soothe him.

"You make me so happy," Antony continues, hugging Stephen close, hoping something he says will hit the right note. "You're everything I've ever wanted." As far as he's concerned, he's got the whole package. And he's still not sure what he did to deserve it.

Stephen cries himself to numbness, and it's a relief, because he knows from experience that once he's slept he'll feel better - he'll be able to rationalise his behaviour and the things he's been feeling. He wipes at his eyes with his fingers and tips his head up to Antony. "I love you." And those three words sum up entirely all Antony is to him.

Antony smiles, kissing Stephen softly on the mouth. "I love you too."


End file.
